Today is July 23rd.

Today marks two years since losing my dad to a heart attack.

Reflecting on that has been weird. Not overly dramatic but full of many different emotions. This morning, I woke up to the sound of my husband taking a shower in our bathroom. I snuggled my Yorkie poo named Biscuit (who I most likely would not even own had not my dad passed away). Long story short: Not too long after my dad passed, Wesley and I went with my mom to pick out a dog from a family who breeds Yorkie poos. She chose Biscuit’s brother and named him Bandit. We had not planned on getting a dog for ourselves, but two weeks later, neither of us could stand it…We had connected with Bandit’s brother and went back to get him…

And we named him Biscuit. Isn’t it incredible how much of a comfort pets can be to those who are lonely or grieving? Just as Bandit became my mom’s snuggle-buddy, Biscuit became mine. I wake up to him most mornings nestled into my back and not at all wanting to wake up–He does not want me to get out of bed either! Trust me, he likes to be nuzzled and loved and spooned as he falls back to sleep.

So, this morning, I woke up smiling at the precious gift that is a white ball of fluff and sass. I got out of bed and grabbed a fresh pot of coffee (because my husband is the best…seriously the best). I started putting on my makeup and getting ready for work and thinking about how choir is starting back up again after a short summer break.

Then, it hit me. My dad’s been in heaven for two years. It’s strange, because two years feels like a long time to be without an earthly dad (although, I’m immensely thankful I still have my father-in-law…what a gift!). At the same time, I spent an entire thirty years of my life with my dad close by at all times. Out of those thirty years, only four of them were spent away from home during my college years, and I would come home far more often than many kids are able.

This past week, simple memories have resurfaced about my dad. It’s funny how it’s often (at least in my case) the seemingly small memories that stick with you the most. Memories of my dad bringing in the groceries while humming some sort of silly song. Memories of eating dinner with my parents and watching some show (a lot of detective shows, ya’ll. A lot of detective shows). My dad and I always bonded over TV shows and movies. Memories of how I used to wake up in the mornings at my parents house and get ready for work–My dad would wake up around five every morning. I’d wake up and usually find him sitting in his chair and drinking his giant mug of coffee, usually with his laptop open, either prepping for Sunday school or researching something sports or news related.

Some mornings, I’d wake up, and my dad would be fully dressed in his exercise gear, ready to walk his five miles and record every step until he’d walked across the world. Five miles, five days a week. My dad was consistent.

That’s an amazing quality, isn’t it? I can honestly say that my dad was incredibly consistent. He built routines that really worked for him, and he stuck with them through rain, shine, sleet, and snow. Yet that consistency did not cause him to rank his to-do list above people. He treated everyone with kindness. He knew how to talk to people, how to engage with them, how to put them at ease. No person was a stranger to my dad. He could make the person behind the cash register smile, just by being his jolly self.

He could always make me smile, even in the doctor’s chair when it came time to get stuck with a needle.

I remember the last two times I saw my dad. One was on Friday, July 21, 2023, when I swung by my parents’ house to pay them a visit. I was newly married and seized the opportunity to drive to my childhood and young adult home…something I had planned to do A LOT with both of my parents around. That day, my dad wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was exercising, so I hadn’t anticipated getting to see him. But sure enough, as I was sitting in the living room chatting with my mom, my dad came in, all finished with his five miles.

You have no idea how thankful I am that I got to see him and visit with him that day. Looking back, I know that was the Lord giving me that last full conversation with my dad. I didn’t know it at the time. None of us know it at the time. Although I can’t remember the conversation, I know it was light-hearted. Sweet. Loving. He knew I was about to get my book published, so I’m sure we talked about that.

The last time I saw my dad was on Sunday, July 23, 2023, the day of his passing. I never walked my mom upstairs to Sunday school…hardly ever! Yet that Sunday, we met downstairs at the same time, so I walked her to class. She walked in, and my dad was already talking to his class. He wore a green shirt, and his hair looked nice. I remember thinking that. I remember thinking that he looked better than he had in several weeks (he’d lost his mom only two weeks prior to his passing). He looked at me and smiled wide and exclaimed, “There she is!”

I smiled back, but I didn’t linger.

I didn’t know what would happen later.

I didn’t linger.

I simply smiled, waved, and walked on to my own Sunday school class. As I walked on by, I’m pretty sure my dad remarked something about my husband and me still being in our honeymoon phase. He was SO incredibly happy for the two of us.

And he got to walk me down the aisle on June 9, 2023. I had actually prayed more than once for the Lord to grant me the desire of marriage and to allow both of my parents to still be on this earth when I got married, and the Lord answered that prayer with a resounding YES!

I’m forever grateful.

Forever grateful to have had such a wonderful earthly father who constantly pointed me to my heavenly Father.

Forever grateful for the memories of the adventures my dad and I shared.

Grief has no timeline. No formula. It’s not all sadness, either. For I grieve as one with hope, knowing that my dad is not dead…He just moved location. One day, my mom will join him. I’ll join him.

It’s weird to say it’s been two years, but that’s a fact.

Within those two years, I’ve laughed, cried, grown, succeeded, failed, re-published my book, written TONS more than I ever thought was possible–So many memories have been created with my husband, with my kids, with my mom, with friends and other family.

The theme of Steel Magnolias is that life goes on.

It does indeed go on. Even after death, it will continue to go on. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

But while I move forward, second by second, day by day, year by year in my numbered days, I think tonight after choir, I shall go home and snuggle my husband and my pets extra close…and remind myself to enjoy the slowness, the stillness, the quiet moments that I will remember most. Like hearing my husband shower in the mornings, snuggling my Yorkie-poo, and smelling a fresh pot of coffee. Like laughing with my husband over the silliest things. Like playing Scrabble with Blossom on the living room couch.

The small moments are really not so small.

Treasure them. When your heart aches, treasure them all the more.

And remember, dear friend, that when your faith is in Jesus, one day, every tear will be wiped away.

For now, the joy through the sorrow is worth it. Always.

I love you, Dad. See you soon (it really will be soon when you compare this life to eternity)!